


Touch

by Kyntha



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Closure, Comfort, Confessions, Developing Relationship, Double Entendre, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s11e16 Goodbye Farewell and Amen, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foot Massage, Hand Jobs, Implied Relationships, Kissing, Korean War, Love Confessions, M/M, Manicures & Pedicures, Massage, Mental Breakdown, Mutual Masturbation, Nervousness, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Priests, Rain, Religious Guilt, Secret Relationship, Wet Clothing, defrocking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyntha/pseuds/Kyntha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy's experiment leads to something more.<br/>Rating for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Experiement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made minor edits to the first three chapters to reflect a later time period in the series (mostly removal of references to Frank and Radar and including references to Charles and Klinger instead. I imagine this taking place about 6 months before the end of the war.

“Everyone touches me, Father.” Hawkeye sighed in exasperation. Father Mulcahy had discovered him wandering the compound showing signs of cracking. The whole camp knew if Hawkeye was beginning to appear brittle the best thing to do was try to smooth the chipped edges before he splintered completely. And that is how Father Mulcahy’s midnight trip to the latrine led to a 1:00a.m. conversation with Hawkeye. “The patients touch me, the dying touch me. It shouldn’t be, but that’s the worst, Father. The dying, grabbing at my sleeve in desperation, as though touching it might heal them. As though I’m the Savior in surgical garb. And I can’t do anything to prolong their last breath.” His voice was shaky.

“Nurses touch me. Klinger touches me. BJ started touching me immediately. Col. Potter touches me. Hell, even Charles touches me.” ( _And one particular doctor used to_ , Hawkeye thought to himself.) He sagged in the chair at Father Mulcahy’s small “confessional” table.

“I thought you might rather...enjoy the nurses’ touch, my son.” Father Mulcahy murmured, suddenly embarrassed.

Hawkeye grinned and conceded, “At times, Father. He wagged his fingers at the priest. “My feelers are feeled out.”

The father nodded slowly. He had the opposite problem and wasn’t sure how to respond. No one touched him. He was isolated in a camp of nearly 100 people. “People seem to think that a vow of celibacy means no touching at all.” He shared with Hawkeye. “Some days I ache for a simple touch.”

The two men were silent in thought for several minutes. Hawkeye’s sudden declaration caused Father Mulcahy to jump. “We may be what the other is looking for.”

“How so, my son?”

“You need touched. I need control over touch. Care to try an experiment?” The father nodded.

“Pass me your nail trimmers. And a file if you have one.”

Father Mulcahy looked at him with a puzzled expression, but crossed the tent to his shave kit and brought forth a pair of Army issued nail trimmers and a nail file that had seen better days. The priest was still skeptical as the surgeon motioned for him to sit on the edge of his cot. Hawkeye moved his chair so that their knees almost brushed. “Give me your hand, Father. Don’t worry. The nurses taught me this.”

He laughed. “That is, in fact, the very thing I am worried about!”

“Father,” Hawkeye smiled the smile that brought out the blue in his eyes. The smile that could light up even the darkest of nights. “Did I detect a bit of perversion in your statement?” He reached for a hand and chastely enveloped it in both of his. The father’s hands were more calloused than Hawkeye’s, which surprised him until he realized as a surgeon he often scrubbed until his hands were raw. As a result he liberally used the lotion issued to soothe dry and cracked heels and feet of the infantrymen. “I need to borrow Baker’s pumice stone for you next time,” he all but whispered.

At that the two men fell nearly silent as Hawkeye stroked one hand over the back of Father Mulcahy’s. He worked each finger from the second knuckle to fingertip and back, stroking once, going back to flex each joint. Before moving on to the nails, the doctor dug his thumb into the palm of the priest’s hand, massaging the pads, hearing joints in tiny bones flex and pop. Picking up the nail clippers, deft hands used to delicate work, neatly trimmed each nail. The snip, snip, snip was hypnotic to them both. The father sat mesmerized at the sensation, having nearly forgotten the feelings another person could invoke at a simple touch.

“Thank you, my son...Hawkeye,” Father Mulcahy mumbled when the doctor had finished massaging, trimming and neatly filing both hands. Hawkeye moved to brush a kiss across the priest’s forehead in response, but remembered himself and used the motion to rise instead. 

He gave a soft smile before slipping out the door. "Anytime, Father."


	2. Observations

The next morning brought casualties - too many and too early in the morning. The next was a day of sleepy soldiers and doctors who only ventured out of their tents for duty or possibly a meal. The following day, Father Mulcahy sat alone in his usual spot in the mess hall, apart from the rest of camp. He took this opportunity to observe Hawkeye with new eyes. Oh, he'd observed Hawkeye before.

He'd watched how Hawkeye moved through a space drawing the attention of everyone in it, drawing from that attention even. Hawkeye seemed to feed off the energy of people and crowds, and the more and the bigger, the better. Before Trapper was sent home, the two doctors often fed off each other. Only apart when they were on separate shifts in Post-Op, he had heard the banter, seen the discrete brushes of hands against hands or knees, witnessed the furtive glances across the room if the two happened to be separated. At times, Father Mulcahy envied Hawkeye's glances in Trapper's direction. 

Today he watched as people brushed against the doctor as they walked by. How Klinger touched his back when he delivered mail. How BJ bumped against his shoulder as they sat. How Margaret let her fingers brush his when he passed the salt. How Col. Potter placed a hand in his shoulder for support when the older surgeon stood. Hawkeye bore the load for them all. Allowed the basic human desire to touch and be touched. People were drawn to him like moths to the one small flicker of light in a world of darkness.

On his side of the mess hall, Hawkeye was making his own observations. Father Mulcahy sat at a table near the chow line, near enough to be bumped unintentionally as soldiers walked to their own tables. Yet, no one even grazed the priest as though there were an invisible bubble shielding him for true human contact. Klinger dropped mail beside the father in a swift motion. No one sat directly to his left or right. When he moved to the coffee urn to refill his cup, the small crowd there parted as though he were Moses parting the Red Sea.

The two men were suddenly aware each was studying the other. Father Mulcahy looked down into his cup, a small blush forming on his face. Hawkeye held his gaze, waiting for the other man to look up again. When he did, Hawkeye smiled warmly and raised his mug in silent greeting. Father Mulcahy returned the salute with grateful smile.

On his way past the father's table minutes later to return his mug, Hawkeye stopped. "Thank you for the counsel a few nights ago, Father. I hope I didn't keep you awake too long."

"Not at all, my son. Thank you for yours as well." replied Father Mulcahy, startled.

"Any time, Father." Hawkeye paused and laid a hand on the other's wrist. "I mean that.


	3. Grief

Three weeks later Hawkeye tossed scrubs into the bin and rubbed the back of his neck. BJ stretched beside him. Thirteen hours of meatball surgery had done them in.

"I'm headed to the mess for coffee and then I have an appointment with my cot and my pillow. Care to join me, Hawk?" BJ asked, placing a friendly hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. The older doctor cringed internally at yet another touch today, no matter how benign.

He and Father Mulcahy had developed a routine of sorts. Once a week or so one or the other asked for "counsel" of the other man. Hawkeye would show up at Father Mulcahy's tent with lotion or a pumice stone or both and massage the priest's hands and arms and once, following much protest from Father Mulcahy, his feet and calves. A "counseling" session would do him wonders now, but the need for his bed was even greater.

"I'm going to check in in Johnson first." Hawkeye shook his head.

"Is that the kid who lost his leg?" BJ inquired.

Hawk nodded. "Leave the light on." He halfway quipped. "I won't be out late, Dad."

He stepped into the night air, taking a deep breath to clear his lungs of the stench of blood, infection, nitrous oxide, sweat, sulfur, and death. Today had not been the kind of day the unit was noted for. Their 90% survival rate had taken a nose dive. Then again, it was difficult to save men who should have been sent straight to the morgue in the first place.

As Hawkeye took another deep breath, he heard a strangled sob from around the corner of the building. On an oil drum sat Father Mulcahy, his shoulders sagging and covered in blood. "Father?" Hawkeye spoke quietly. 

"Oh Hawkeye, my son. I didn't see you there." the father tried to hid his tears and sit a little straighter.

The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. "John," he whispered. The two had, at Father Mulcahy's bashful request, begun calling each other by first name in private, "No need for charades. Everyone else has gone off to find a bottle, a bed, or a bedmate. Let's get you cleaned up to start."

Father Mulcahy allowed himself to be led back into the scrub room where Hawkeye stripped him of his fatigues from the waist up. The pants weren't so bad and he didn't want to embarrass his friend by relieving him of his pants as well. The doctor gently scrubbed the priest's hands and arms, getting most of the blood and body tissue off. He then helped him into a scrub shirt. "Come in, John. Let's get you home."

No sooner than the two men closed the door on John's tent than the father collapsed in Hawkeye's arms. "Ben," he sobbed, "Private Morris...he died in my arms. It seemed like the right thing to do, you know, to cradle him. His breathing was so labored I thought it might give him comfort. And he...died as I was giving last rights."

Hawkeye was maneuvering both of them toward the only surface to support them both - the bed. He somehow managed to get them both to the cot, but Father Mulcahy, John, crumbled again, lying on his side facing the wall of the tent and away from Hawkeye - Ben. Deciding to join him, the surgeon became the outside spoon to John holding the man close as his body shook with sobs.

Hawkeye remembered Morris. He was one of the men who should have never been shipped to the MASH unit in the first place. Hawkeye had been working triage when the private came in and had tagged him immediately as DOA. The man's heart just hadn't listened to what was left of the rest of his body and hadn't stopped beating yet. He decided telling John as much wouldn't help ease his grief. It caught up with them all occasionally. The priest managed hold himself together longer than most of the medical personnel in the camp. Instead Hawkeye wrapped his free arm around John, planted the flat of his palm over the man's heart and held him close. He let his friend sob until tears gave way to the soft sounds of sleep filled breath.

When Hawkeye dared ease himself out of the father's bed and tent, he paused long enough to smooth back his hair and kiss John's cheek, something he had not yet dared attempt when the other man was awake.

As he slipped into his own tent mere hours before dawn, BJ stirred. "You have a lousy sense of time." He mumbled not wanting to wake Charles on the other side of the tent. "Find a warm body to keep you company instead?"

"Something like that." Hawkeye answered with affection. "Go back to sleep. You're on duty soon."


	4. Confession

"Ben?" the father started. He was sitting backwards in his chair leaning forward into a pillow. Ben had fashioned something of a massage chair and was rubbing the knots out of John's shoulders and back. He had convinced John to remove his fatigue shirt, but not his undershirt. Ben took what he could get, not daring to push the priest any further than he was comfortable with.

“Yes, John?” The surgeon dug his fingers into a sensitive spot and the father muffled a cry of pain...pleasure?...into the pillow.

“Might I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“The last night you were here...when Private Morris died...did you...oh dear!” He trailed off, embarrassed. “What I mean is, as we were lying together I thought I felt...”

Ben leaned forward on the cot and spoke softly into John’s ear, “...an erection?” His warm breath caressed John’s neck. At the slight nod, Ben continued. “Yes, I did. It was inappropriate for the moment but it happened nonetheless.”

“Oh...” John mouthed the word more than spoke it. Ben continued the massage and watched the father’s face as he worked through what to say next. Truth was Ben was semi-hard now. The next response came as a single word “Why?”

“Why not. I find you attractive.” Ben breathed into his ear.

“I’m...you’re attracted to me?”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

John shook his head, but confusion was written on his face.

“There’s something to be said for the vulnerability of the moment too. The nurses are much more agreeable when they are feeling vulnerable. I'm not the degenerate Frank Burns made me out to be. There aren’t nearly the notches on my bedpost as you might think. But when I’m feeling raw and in need of release and someone else feels the same way...well, it’s just easier.” Ben trudged on before he lost his nerve. “It’s how...”

“How you and Trapper started, too, my...friend.” John finished for him, now being the braver of the two in the conversation.

Ben’s hands stopped for a moment. “How did you know? We tried to be discreet.”

“Ben, when one is camp chaplain and lives something of a solitary life as such, one has opportunity, if you will, to observe things other people might not. Quiet brushes of hands against knees, furtive glances across crowded spaces, whispers at inopportune times, stolen moments behind Post-Op, lights on where lights should not be on. There were nights, my friend, that the SWAMP stood completely empty with you and Trapper returning only moments before your tent mate. You may have been discreet, but the camp chaplain always knows.” He smiled warmly before wincing at tight spot Ben was working loose.

The two men sat in silence, Ben unsure what to say or do next, but sure what he wanted to do. He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the cot, fully aware of the erection between his legs so tauntingly close to John’s rear end. 

John also was unsure where this conversation might lead and remembered the last time he was in this situation so very long ago. The mutual attentions of a college roommate frightened him then and was a driving force to him joining the priesthood. He wondered if he might have the courage to act on his feelings again this time. He wondered if he should.

John cleared his throat to speak. "Is that why you continue to seek my 'counsel,' Ben? You find me attractive?"

"I was under the impression we sought each other's." Ben didn't mean to bristle at the question, but it did irrationally raise his ire. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Yes, John, it is why I seek out your company. Wouldn't you seek out the company of someone you find attractive?"

The priest mused for a moment. "Yes, I suppose so."

“It’s getting late, John.” He whispered too close again. “I should be getting my beauty sleep.”

The priest nodded and scooted the chair forward. “Yes, of course.”

Ben stopped at the door and turned back. “Goodnight, John.” he said affectionately.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

Father Mulcahy waited until he heard Hawkeye’s boots crunch on the gravel outside before undoing his pants and sliding his hand around his erection. Hawkeye walked straight to the latrine where he pulled out his own erection. As he came, biting back a shout, the John he pictured in his mind was, for the first time in over a year, not Trapper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited slightly for consistency of later chapters.


	5. Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely rated "M" or NSFW. Gets a little angsty; I'm not sorry. It's difficult to write a Hawkeye fic without some angst and stay true to his character.

The rainy season in Korea had started. Many of the tents leaked and soldiers found comfort in drier public spaces like the Officers Club and Rosie’s with their tin roofs or the mess tent where they could maneuver around the leaks better. BJ and Hawkeye trudged through puddles toward the O.C. for an afternoon pick me up. A leak formed directly over Hawkeye’s cot and after listening to a 15 minute tirade about how he missed Crabapple Cove in the springtime, BJ had suggested the trek.

They were greeted by Col. Potter who laid an aging, but adept hand on Hawkeye’s arm, “Good to see you boys were able to make it downstream. Pull up a chair. The Padre has been entertaining us on the ol’ music box.” Father Mulcahy smiled in Hawkeye’s direction. He continued playing but wondered to himself if he might be brave enough to approach Hawkeye after their evening a few nights back. Their conversation had haunted him since. He felt drawn to Hawkeye in ways he knew he shouldn’t.

Hawkeye brushed a hand over the priest’s shoulder as he walked past. “Afternoon, Father.”

When BJ sat with their drinks, BJ closed a hand over Hawkeye’s wrist. “Careful, Hawk. That’s a dangerous path you’re venturing down.”

Hawkeye jerked his hand away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Beej!”

“Come off it, Hawk.” He was tired of his friend’s rantings today. “I’ve heard the frequent requests for ‘counsel’ from each other. You’ve been coming home late more often and smelling of someone else’s aftershave, for God’s sake.”

“You’re sniffing me now?”

“You’ve forgotten I’m the man who spent six months putting back together someone I’d just met because he was heartbroken over someone I’ve never met. Geez, Hawk, I don’t care if you like men or women or both. But a priest?” BJ shook his head. “Just be careful.”

Hawkeye downed his martini in one gulp and sulked, not wanting to admit BJ may be right. BJ motioned to Igor, who was tending bar, to bring them two more drinks. When they arrived, Hawkeye slammed it back too. “When the crabapple trees bloom in Crabapple Cove, the whole air is filled with the delicate scent of the blossoms...” He started.

“Not this again.” BJ groaned, leaving him to sulk alone at the table.

“What’s up with him today?” Col. Potter asked when BJ sat down beside him.

The younger surgeon grimaced. “There’s a leak in the tent over the end of his bunk, which has lead to 16 verses of _I love Crabapple Cove in the Springtime._ I’d hoped a change of scenery would do him some good, but it hasn’t seemed to help so far.” BJ left out the part about Hawkeye pining away another unavailable person. “Buy you a beer, Colonel?”

As they chatted, Father Mulcahy stopped butchering his show tunes and stood. “Leaving so soon, Padre?” Col. Potter asked.

The father rubbed his shoulder. “Yes, well, I seem to have done something to my shoulder yesterday mopping puddles in Post-Op, Colonel. I think I’ll go back to my tent and rest it for a bit. I believe I’m one of the lucky ones. Only a small leak in the corner of my tent.”

“Damn shame, this rain. Turning chaplains into chambermaids.”

“Oh, I don’t mind so much, Colonel. It makes me feel useful somehow. Afternoon, all.” Father Mulcahy smiled as he slipped on his poncho and left the O.C.

In his corner, Hawkeye had heard the exchange and was now trying to work out if that was a hint that the father wanted him to follow. Eventually he decided those were exactly the priest’s intentions and made moves to leave. BJ sent him a warning look, which he ignored.

He had left his own poncho over the end of his bed in the hope he might be able to sleep in a somewhat dry bed later. The rain had picked up and by the time he crossed the compound, he was nearly soaked. “John?” Hawkeye called softly after tapping on Father Mulcahy’s door. “It’s Ben. Could I come in?”

Father Mulcahy had stripped down to his pants and socks, neither had taken on too much water. His shirt, however had been soaked. “Ben! You’re dripping wet!” he exclaimed when he opened the door. “What happened to your poncho?”

“I might ask you the same thing, John.” he glanced at the wet clothes on the floor.

“I gave mine to Klinger on guard duty. His had ripped and the rain was ruining his pink chiffon.”

“The low cut number with the cap sleeves? Oh yes, he’s quite fond of that one. Could I borrow your towel?”

"Yes, of course!"

Ben stripped off his own shirt and undershirt, leaving them in the same puddle as John's. He admired John's bare chest as he toweled out his dark hair. John was lean, but more muscular than Ben imagined he might be. Years of boxing had certainly paid off. He studied the hard lines running down the priest's stomach and swallowed. "Er, uhm...you said something in the Officers Club about a sore shoulder?"

"Oh yes, I might have told a small untruth there." John chuckled. "But I wouldn't object to another back massage either."

"A man of the cloth lie?" Ben tutted with a teasing gleam in his eye. They both laughed, glad of the lack of tension they had both feared.

"Shall I fix the chair?" John offered while Ben rubbed the towel across his own chest.

Once settled, the easy banter stopped as Ben slid his fingers onto John's bare flesh. His skin was softer than Trapper's and more freckled. Ben thought he could draw a map of the Milky Way by playing connect the freckles. He was not so much massaging John's back as running his hands over the skin. The sensation hypnotized them both.

A gust of wind blew hard and shook the sides of the tent. The idea of the breeze caused John to shiver. "Lean back, John. I'll keep you warm." Ben scooted forward a few inches on the edge of the bed and guided the priest to lean against his bare chest.

"Oh my..." He murmured at the sensation of skin against skin in unfamiliar places. He hadn't felt this since his college days at Loyola. "Oh my." He murmured again.

"Okay?" Ben questioned, hot breath in his ear. John could only nod. Ben snaked hands around to John's front, this time digging fingers into stiff pectoral muscles. "We spend so much time hunched in various tasks, these muscles become tighter than we realize." Ben whispered.

The breath against John's neck caused him to moan out a "I see," in response. Ben's fingers drifted downward, grazing a nipple on the way. The father knew he had allowed their "counsel" to go too far. He feared he had already broken his vow of celibacy by agreeing to actions that were clearly arousing and clearly no longer platonic. He didn't know how he could continue but he knew he couldn't stop the hands wandering across his front. He didn't want to stop them.

The surgeon now rubbed slow circles over John's stomach. He found the small tuft of blond hair under the navel that trailed down into the waistband and teased fingers through it on each rotation. The priest made noises barely audible over the sound of rain. Ben wasn't even sure John was aware of the soft mewling. It was obvious by glancing down he was bone hard and Ben felt sure his own erection was unmistakable against John's lower back as well. The two men rested their heads together, the day's stubble scratching the other man's cheek. 

Eager, exploring hands slipped over the front of John's pants. Following a groan in response, one hands crept further until it cupped the hard length of flesh tenting the front of John's khakis. He squirmed against Ben's chest but made no protest against the attentions his trapped and needy cock received. Neither man had any intention of stopping now. 

Ben increased pressure and arched his hips into John’s back side. The steady drip, drip, drip of rain into the bedpan in the corner and their heavy, unsteady breathing were the only sounds heard. Ben pressed hard, stroking through thick fabric with one hand and teasing hair just above the waistband with the other. He began to wonder if he dared venture a finger or two inside the other man’s waistband when John bucked and sat straight up in the chair. **“Hawkeye!”** he shouted, both in release and in panic.

Ben felt warm wetness spread through John’s pants under his hand. The sudden declaration, especially of his public name, brought a bright blush to his face and shame to his heart. He stumbled untangling himself from their position and mumbled “I’m sorry, Father,” before fleeing the tent into the pouring rain. When he arrived at the relative safety of his own tent, Hawkeye leaned his head against the door and knew BJ was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know references to Klinger in this chapter aren't canon compliant, but it was a fun exchange to write and I think it goes to Father Mulcahy's character that he would give his poncho so willingly and without question. Much like I'm not sorry about Hawkeye's angst, I'm not sorry about this either. :-)


	6. Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Mulcahy looks back at his college days.

John met Christopher partway through their freshman year at Loyola. The two boys were night and day different. John was studious and quiet, preferring to read over socializing or other activities. He was studying to be a teacher. Christopher was loud and brash and loved sports. At the encouragement of his father, he was working toward his business degree. Both, however, were from devout Catholic families, which is how they ended up in the same college. How they ended up on the same hall in their dorm was merely by luck of the draw.

Initially they weren't close but were at least friendly toward each other. After John helped Christopher with a term paper, Christopher suggested John try out for the boxing team. The coach was looking for a new fighter in the lightweight division.

The end of their junior year Christopher's roommate joined the Army in anticipation of the United States entering the war Europe. John's roommate, a fellow education student, was planning on marrying his high school sweetheart during the summer break. 

"So what do you think, John?" Christopher asked one day while several of the men on the hall were tossing the football around. "Should we bunk together next year? Beats getting paired up with strangers."

Most of the year went uneventfully. Christopher dated one girl after another, declaring after a few dates she wasn't his type. John boxed and read. John helped Christopher study. Christopher tried to fix John up with girls.

"Come on, John. My date's friend is a looker. We can double." Christopher would goad. John would just laugh in his jovial, bemused way before declining.

One night shortly before graduation, Christopher came home from another date and began to undress for bed quietly, figuring John was asleep.

"How was your date, my friend?" John asked sleepily. 

"I didn't mean to wake you, John."

He rolled over to face his friend in the dark. "You didn't. I just turned out the light a few minutes ago. You're back early."

"We had a nice time, I guess. I only went out with her as a favor to my dad, though" Christopher shrugged on the dark. "Her father is a client of my dad's. She is smart and really pretty, but she's not my type."

John heard the clink of a belt buckle and the light thump of pants hitting the floor. His stomach twisted at the idea of Christopher standing two feet away from him in only his boxers.

"You say that all the time, Christopher." John mused. "What exactly is you type?"

The other man was silent for a moment. John heard him sit heavily on his own bed. Finally the man said quietly, "You, John."

"Oh...OH!" John exclaimed, realization setting in.

Christopher moved to the edge of John's bed. "Am I wrong, John? You've never shown interest in a girl. You've never even thought twice when I tried to hook you up. Surely you've thought about it...with me."

"I...er...confess I've never truly given it much thought at all, my friend. True, I've never found girls attractive, but I thought, well, I thought some men were just hardwired that way, I suppose."

"Some men are, John. They are hardwired to like other men. Haven't you felt attracted to any man?"

There was a long silence. "Well, I do feel confused when I see you undress." John could feel the blush burn on his cheeks. "Like my stomach twists and knots. And Michael...big guy on the boxing team...sometimes when I...in the shower...I see him in my head."

"You would jack off to fantasies of that guy!" Christopher exclaimed in mock disgust.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, although he wasn't sure why he was apologizing for.

Christopher laughed lightly and placed a hand on John's leg. "No need to apologize. He's gorgeous."

Silence. The hand on John’s leg seem to burn straight through the blanket into his flesh. He felt himself becoming oddly aroused. “John...” Christopher started quietly, almost a question, checking in with his friend. The other man shifted in the bed and cleared his throat. “John, I...I dropped a bombshell on you tonight. I believed you had thought through your...feelings. I didn’t know how...confused you were. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Are you okay?” John closed his eyes and nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. “Try to go to sleep. We can talk more later if you want.” 

Christopher made to stand, but John caught his hand. “Don’t. I mean...oh dear...” he rasped.

He trailed off embarrassed, unsure of what he wanted but sure he didn’t want to lose the touch of the man sitting on his bed. Christopher rescued him from himself. “Could I sleep with you tonight? Just sleep.” At John’s quiet noise of agreement, the two men arranged themselves on the twin bed, both in their boxers and undershirts. Christopher spooned John, with one arm draped over the man’s waist and his head snuggled against his shoulder. John slowly eased himself closer until back rested against chest, their legs intertwined.

They shared a first kiss the next morning before mass, an awkward fumbling moment that led John to sit on the edge of his bed nervous and dizzy long after Christopher departed for the showers.

The next five weeks the two never slept apart. They experimented in their newfound affection for each other, Christopher having slightly more experience and much more confidence, trying to guide them. John found he loved it when they would sit leaning against the head of the bed with Christopher's bare front snugged against his own bare back and helped bring John off, his strong hands pulling and squeezing. Sometimes Christopher would whisper naughty things in his ear, hot breath teasing the fine hairs on his neck. John didn't so much like blow jobs, but he loved the noises Christopher made when John knelt between his legs and wrapped tentative lips around his member. And he loved the feel of Christopher's fingers gripping his short hair when he found release.

No matter how much John enjoyed the sensations he was discovering with Christopher or the comfort of his body late at night after lights out or the feeling of being loved, John struggled with the guilt that what they were doing was wrong. "How can this be wrong?" Christopher breathed across bare skin as he nipped one of John's erect nipples.

"It just...oh!...is. The Bible says it is."

"And do you follow everything the Bible says?" Hands trailed down John's stomach followed by wet bruised lips.

"I...Christopher, yes!...try."

Two weeks before graduation John decided to confide in his sister Katherine with whom he was very close. She was at a convent preparing to be a nun. He hoped she would write back immediately.

A week before graduation Christopher began talking of their future. "I need to find a wife, of course, John. Maybe Dad's client's daughter. She was nice enough. You could play the bachelor schoolmaster well enough if you can't bring yourself to marry. I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for teaching in Chicago. My parents would even put you up for a while until you got settled. And then I could see you every night until the wedding. After, once a week or so, maybe? It'd be hard without seeing you everyday, but we could make it. What do you think?"

John was on his knees with Christopher's member down his throat wishing the other man would stop talking and start making the noise he'd grown to love. He growled deep in his throat to get the reaction he'd been looking for.

The day before graduation Sister Katherine's letter arrived. She was sympathetic, but firm. "You mustn't continue this relationship, my dear brother. Perhaps study toward the ministry would help you make the break you need."

Sister Katherine was right. John could still teach if he entered the priesthood. How had he not thought of that before? John broke it to Christopher the day of graduation. Christopher didn't take the news well, at least choosing silence over rage. John sat on the bed in his now empty dorm room and wept. The two men never saw each other again.

Now thirteen years later John feared he was sliding down the same slippery slope again. This time, though, he had seen so much evil and hate in the war, he questioned how a loving God could find fault in two people for loving each other. With so much other tragedy in the world, he wondered if God even cared about what two grown men did with each other in the relative privacy of any Army tent.

The officers were gathered in the mess tent for breakfast and their monthly officers meeting. As usual, the meeting quickly declined into chaos. Once Col. Potter finally put the whole group of them out if their misery and the group began to disperse, Father Mulcahy found himself sitting alone with Hawkeye and BJ. Based on looks he'd seen the two surgeons exchange recently, he took his chances BJ knew what had transpired between Hawkeye and himself last week in the rain.

He grabbed at Hawkeye's sleeve and immediately dropped it as though it were on fire just as Hawkeye made to depart for duty in Post-Op. "Would you join me for conversation later, my son?" He asked quickly before he lost his nerve.

Hawkeye looked down at the father slightly startled at his choice of words. Not counsel. Conversation. "Yes, of course, Father." Then leaning in close, whispered "And, John, never be afraid to touch me. Heaven help me, but I welcome your touch," more lewdly than intended. 

All Father Mulcahy could do was nod around his blush.

BJ studied the priest thoughtfully for a few minutes after Hawkeye left the mess tent. "Open for a bit of advice, Father?"

"Why of course, my son."

"If the two of you insist on continuing a relationship, be careful with his heart. I've already had to piece him together after Trapper. He my best friend and the only thing keeping me going some days in this stinking hell hole. So I'll piece him together again, but I don't relish doing so."

“I never meant for any of this to happen, BJ." Father Mulcahy blurted out, suddenly apologetic. "I certainly wasn’t seeking it out.” father said.

“See, that’s the thing, Father. These kinds of things happen when you aren’t seeking them out.” BJ said, remembering his own affair with nurse Carrie Donovan. He gave the father's arm a friendly pat. "Be careful with your own heart, Father. I'm rather fond of you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter didn't go anywhere that I expected it to go, but I'm rather pleased at how it turned out.


	7. Decisions

After a brief reprieve of the rain earlier in the day, clouds had opened back up by the time BJ relieved Hawkeye in Post-Op mid afternoon. "Going to see the father, Hawk?"

"I've got to talk this through with him, Beej. Even if we call the whole thing off, I can't leave things unsaid this time." Hawkeye took off his lab coat and reached for his poncho BJ brought with him. "Keep an eye on Miller. His fever continues to spike."

"Hawk," BJ said as Hawkeye made to leave. "There's a half bottle of Scotch in my trunk. Why don't you take that with you? Better than that turpentine we pass off as gin."

The dark haired surgeon smiled in appreciation.

A few minutes later he knocked on Father Mulcahy's tent door. "I come bearing peace offerings, John." He held up the Scotch and a small tin of smoked almonds his dad had sent in his last package. "Pour you a drink?"

"I'd be delighted, Ben." John said. "To what do we owe this pleasure?" He asked taking a sip.

"Thank Beej. He suggested I bring it."

"Well it certainly hits the spot." John smiled stiffly. The two men sat across from each other at John's small table sipping the amber liquid in thoughtful silence. Ben fought the urge to start babbling. Silence had never been his strong point, but the father appeared to be pondering how to begin. So Ben swallowed his words and waited.

"Ben..." John's started after the first glass of Scotch was gone. Ben automatically poured them both a second. "I owe you an apology for last week. I shouldn't have let our 'counsel' go so far. It's been so long and you've been such a good friend and your hands felt so very...warm"

"John, I owe you the apology. I got carried away. Even after our conversation that I found you attractive, it was no excuse to allow our time together to become sexual. Manicures and massages are one thing, John, but I put you in a difficult position. I'm sorry." Ben countered.

"Apology not necessary, but accepted, my friend." John smiled. "I feel I must tell you how I came to be a priest. It might explain my alarm last week." John launched into the story of Christopher. Ben listened without interruption and drank his Scotch. By the end of his story, tears streamed down John's cheeks. His voice hitched at the end as he described how Christopher responded to the break up by simply stating "I guess I was wrong about you after all. Have a good life, _Father Mulcahy_." and walked out of the dorm room.

“I couldn’t face my fears then, nor did I truly have anyone to speak with about them. The friend I thought understood, in fact, did not. My dear sister the Sister tried, but she couldn’t imagine the scope of my guilt, shame, and grief. God bless her advice to join seminary, but the time I spent there was the most depressed I’ve ever been. I moved from one impossible situation to another.” He stared into his drink, not bothering to wipe tears from his face.

Ben moved from his side of the table to kneel in front of his friend. “John...” he whispered. He placed a palm against the priest’s wet cheek and thumbed away tears. “John...” 

Eventually the man gathered himself and smiled around the warm palm that still caressed his face. “Oh dear. That’s the second time I have cried on you now.”

A corny line about living a lifetime of John crying if it meant the two could be together popped into Ben’s head and he quickly swallowed it before it came out his mouth. It was too soon to be talking lifetimes, but at that tender, vulnerable moment, he saw a lifetime with the man in front of him. Something, he realized, he’d never seen with Trapper or anyone else for that matter.

“Ben, might I ask...was there anyone else before Trapper? I mean another man?” John asked sometime later. They had rearranged chairs so they were sitting nearly knee to knee and were now each on their fourth glass of Scotch. It had been agreed they would need to buy BJ a new bottle. Quiet conversation, mostly around John’s relationship with Christopher had led to a comfortable silence as they both listened to the steady rain on the tent roof. John confessed he had never spoken about his relationship aloud with anyone else, not even his sister. Once he started words seem to pour out as easily as the Scotch and the rain.

“One, in my first year of med school.” Ben took a long drink. “Girls are okay. I like their softness and how pretty they smell, but men are what really wind my clock.” He smirked. “I just couldn’t figure out how to approach men like I could a girl. One night whole group of us had gone out for drinks after exams. About an hour in, Joe leaned over to me and said he knew of a place ‘our kind’ were welcome. I asked him what he thought ‘my kind’ was and he said ‘The kind of man who pretends to be looking at a pretty girl, but is instead looking just over her head to her handsome date.’ Since that’s exactly what I’d been doing, I couldn’t argue with him.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Joe took me to a gay club where we danced all night. Neither of us was looking for anything serious, and after a month of...well, after a month or so, we called it off.”

“How did you face the guilt and shame?”

Ben shook his head. “Dad has never been particularly religious, so I wasn’t raised that way. He taught me to live and let live, and I pretty much took that to include the privacy of one’s bedroom. I even took Joe home one weekend to meet Dad. He seemed surprised, but supportive. Oh, there’s been frustration. And heartbreak.” He thought of Trapper. “And I had it figured out early on preferring the company of men wasn’t news one ran up a flagpole. But I never suffered personal shame or guilt for my choices.” Ben looked into John’s dark blue eyes. “I can’t imagine how you’ve struggled, John. How you still struggle.”

“This is normally where I say I have the Lord on my side, but I’m not sure that’s true in this situation.” John grimaced. “I wish I knew where we go from here, Ben. I’ve been drawn to you for longer than you realize.”

“But, you have a vow to a higher power.”

“Sadly, yes. Is it worth putting at risk everything I have become, no matter the circumstances of choosing this life? If we seek out a relationship, Ben, I need it to be that. A relationship. I cannot allow myself to jeopardize my priesthood, for a tryst. I could forgive you if we tried and it didn’t work. I can’t forgive either of us if means nothing.”

Ben gripped John’s shoulders so suddenly the action shocked them both. “John, I’m a letch, a cad, a degenerate, a pervert, a coward, and an adulterer even. If I believed in such a place, I would be going straight to hell for my sins. You shouldn’t even allow me in your tent. But I promise you one thing. Every moment spent with you has meaning. I will be open and honest. I will allow you to lead us however you’re comfortable. And I will cherish every second I spend with you.”

“Leaving the priesthood now would mean I be sent home. How can I serve the men; how can I care for the orphans if I’m stateside? How...how could I be with you?”

“Don’t resign. Not yet. The war can’t last forever. Wait until you’re shipped home. A resignation is merely paperwork.”

“How can I answer to my higher power?” John all but wailed.

“How can your higher power ask you to deny yourself?” Ben countered. “John, you are the most faithful person I know. You selflessly and cheerfully give of yourself to the men, the wounded, the orphans. The brass on your shoulders and the crucifix around your neck have nothing to do with the pure intentions your heart.”

“You do have a point, my friend.” John demured.

“Listen, it’s late, and we’re both drunk.” He peered at the empty Scotch bottle. “I would like to try to make a relationship work with you. A real relationship. Not what Frank Burns thought he had with Margaret. Not what I pull over on the nurses occasionally. Something real and solid and honest. If you don’t or choose not to, I’ll understand. It will be painful, but I will. Because God help me, John, in addition to all my other sins, my worst is I’m a terrible masochist. But I do think you should take time and think or pray or meditate or whatever you think you need to do before we decide where we go from here.” Ben realized he was gripping bruises into John’s shoulders and released him. “I’m going to go, John. Goodnight.”

“Ben? Before you go? Could I...would you...kiss me?” John’s deep blue eyes shone from freshly forming tears and something else. Hope?

“Of course, John.” Ben brushed chapped lips across John’s stubbled cheek. He breathed in the smell of oakmoss, vanilla, and rain.

John sighed. “That’s not exactly what I meant, my friend.”

“I know.” Before John could respond, Ben slipped out of the tent into the rain.


	8. Sanctuary

“Oh, Hawkeye!” Father Mulcahy called to the surgeon who was walking across the compound from Post-Op. The father been reading outside his tent door, grateful for a break in the rain. “I’m glad I saw you. Do you have a minute?”

Hawkeye yawned. “I just got off midnight duty in Post-Op, and have a long overdue appointment with my bed, but I can spare a few minutes. What is it, Father?”

“I wonder if I might ask your advice on something, confidentially, my son.”

Across the compound from BJ's own reading perch on an oil drum outside the Swamp, he watched Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy walk into his tent as though it were a natural thing to do. He hadn't been able to get much out of Hawk in the last two weeks. Only that the two men talked...and drank all his Scotch, dammit. But he did know Hawkeye was keeping his distance from the father. "He's got to figure out who he wants to be without me in his way," was all Hawk would say.

As soon as the door shut John didn't waste any time getting to the point. "Ben, if I kiss you I will have intentionally and knowingly broken my vow of celibacy. If I do that, the church and God may forgive me, but I could never forgive myself for continuing to hide behind my collar. If I kiss you, I must leave the priesthood. I'll wait until the war is over, but as soon as we're stateside, I cannot continue passing myself off as something I am not."

Ben nodded. 

"If I kiss you, no nurses while we're together!"

"Do you know how many notches I've added to my bedpost since this stinking war started, John? Five. Five lousy notches and that includes Trapper. Six if you count a few months ago when Margaret and I were pinned down in an abandoned outpost on the front together."

John just glared in the way he did when he felt he needed to be firm.

"No nurses, John." Ben tried hard not to mock.

"Or doctors!"

Ben inched toward him. Their blue eyes bore into each other. He held John's smaller, more calloused hands in his. "As God as my witness, John, no one else but you."

John chuckled tersely. "I'm not so sure God is in this place right now, my friend."

Ben took another step closer. John could feel the doctor's breath on his skin. "I'm not so sure he isn't."

"Then you'd better kiss me before I change my mind!"

Ben leaned in the short distance he'd left between them until his lips almost but not quite touched John's. His hands wandered up John's arms to his shoulders. "No." He breathed. "You kiss me. Don't leave any doubt who did what here, John. You kiss me."

And he did. John tilted his head the inch he needed and closed the miniscule gap between their lips. A whimper of pain as though surgical tape had been ripped from tender skin escaped his throat. "I've got you, John." Ben whispered against his lips. Ben ran one hand around John's neck, gripping him firmly. The other hand snaked down his chest and around his waist. "I won't let go." He sucked John's lower lip between his and grazed teeth against it lightly. 

John broke the kiss to look up at Ben's sea blue eyes. He imagined he could see the waters of Crabapple Cove in them. He wondered if he would like it there on the bay. The eyes staring down at him were darker now, but twinkled at the sensations just a kiss could give him. "Do you think I am a good person, Ben?"

Ben placed his hands on John's shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. "Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, you are the goodest man I've ever met." The conversion was complete. This time Ben moved in for the kiss.

He moved one hand to John's head, twining fingers through his short hair. The other, he ghosted down John's front to rest easily on a firm pectoral muscle. John's hands began moving up Ben's sides awkwardly at first but finding confidence as Ben made small noises of appreciation. Ben teased his tongue over John's lips, and he allowed the invasion. The slick wetness flicked over teeth, searching for John's own tongue. John responded with small mewling sounds and poked his tongue out tentatively before breaking the kiss.

He rested his forehead against Ben's. " Something wrong?" Ben asked.

"No...this is all very new and overwhelming. I just need a moment.” He gasped.

Ben opened his mouth to respond when BJ burst through the door. "Hawk, we need you now in O.R. It's Cohen! Pressure's dropped! I think we've missed a shell fragment in his lungs."

"We'll finish this later," Hawkeye murmured to Father Mulcahy.

"Oh dear, is there anything I can do?" All three men were running out the door to the O.R. BJ was already barking updates to Hawkeye and orders to Klinger to find Margaret. "He doesn't subscribe to the same holy book as you, Father, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind you sending up a few smoke signals on his behalf."

"We're all God's children, my son, no matter what book we to which subscribe." Father Mulcahy responded automatically, rushing to Cohen's side as the young soldier was prepped for surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I purposely ended this chapter here for a couple reasons. I wanted Father Mulcahy’s first kiss to be something of a sacrament for him. It’s a mental defrocking, but I wanted it to be a place where he could move on from his guilt and discover a different sort of sanctuary. If I moved into a more explicit scene immediately, it would have come across as more lewd than holy. I also wanted him to discover that when called to duty, he is still the man of God he fears he won’t be after kisses Hawkeye.


	9. Later

An hour long operation on Cohen to find shell fragments hiding in the lungs turned in a marathon surgery session when wounded began pouring into the compound shortly after Hawkeye and BJ got started. Hawkeye, BJ, and Father Mulcahy, along with half the rest of the camp, stumbled out of the O.R. well after dark. Hawkeye stopped at Father Mulcahy's door and wandered into the tent. He fell onto the bed sideways.

"Hawk, wrong tent. C'mon." BJ called to him through the open door.

"Hawkeye, why don't you go to your own tent." Father Mulcahy prodded mostly for show.

"No, we said we'd finish later. It's later." Hawkeye whined into the blanket almost too tired to speak.

BJ looked at his tent mate the way a frustrated mother would look at a toddler. "Leave him, BJ. It's quite alright." Father Mulcahy sighed. "If anyone asks, he stumbled into the wrong tent and fell asleep before we could move him. He's been up for over 36 hours. No one will question that story."

"Father, where did you become such an expert at deception?"

"Well, it’s mostly the truth, but I observe plenty of sly behavior in camp, my son. I've found often the more a person tries to sneak around, the more that person is hiding."

"Ahhh, wise observations. You're welcome to come sleep in the Swamp if you'd like."

"No thank you; I'll try to make due in here or go to the VIP tent if I can't. Although I'm not deserving of that title." Father Mulcahy smiled.

BJ looked back into the tent at his best friend now snoring peacefully in the father's bed. Placing a hand on Father Mulcahy's shoulder, he said, "You are in his eyes, Father. Goodnight."

"Oh my," Father Mulcahy murmured to himself while BJ walked toward the Swamp.

No stranger to caring for men who were immobile or unconscious, John took off Ben's boots then began easing his fatigues over his shoulders and off his arms. Next he rolled Ben this way and that like the nurses had taught him to change a bed with a patient in it, this time to retrieve covers from under Ben. He debated changing into his own pajamas or stripping down to undershirt and pants like he'd done for Ben. In the end he decided he'd be more comfortable in pajamas. After all, he reasoned, he walked to the showers in his bathrobe nearly everyday. Finally he lifted the covers and eased himself onto the Army cot, remembering how Ben spooned him several weeks ago.

Ben slept for nearly 12 hours. As soon as he woke, he knew he wasn't in his usual bed. The tent was too dark for the middle of the day and there was a distinct lack of foot odor, dust, and mold hanging in the air. "John?" He rubbed his eyes.

John sat at the table writing. "Oh, Ben! You're awake."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"What day did I fall asleep?"

"Tuesday. Late."

"What day did we kiss?"

John eyes crinkled when he smiled at the thought. "Still Tuesday. Mid morning."

"Any chance of breakfast?"

"Sorry. You slept through breakfast. But I had Igor bring you some sandwiches and a cup of coffee about half hour ago." He motioned to a plate on the packing crate used for a night table.

"You're too good to me, John."

John sat on the edge of the bed and ruffled Ben's hair.

"Cohen?" Ben leaned on his elbow to take a large bite from the sandwich.

"I checked on him an hour ago. He's doing fine. In fact, we had a 100% survival rate yesterday."

“Really? That’s terrific!” Ben took a gulp of lukewarm coffee and pulled John in. He kissed John deep and hard. His tongue teased over lips and explored a wet warm mouth. John tasted faintly of mint and baloney sandwiches. He smelled like the beige acrid Army issue soap and the menthol of freshly applied Aqua Velva. When they broke apart, John ran his own tongue over his lips. He wanted nothing more at that moment of easy conversation, an unshaven face against his clean one, and kisses that sent tingles to every nerve ending in this body to spend a lifetime with the man underneath him. It surprised him to discover that realization made him quite happy instead of fearful.

“Ben, why don’t you make yourself seen around camp for a few minutes? Go take a shower and get a shave. You don’t go on duty for another few hours and BJ said he’d cover for you for a while if you needed. Come back here in an hour?”

“Trying to get rid of me, John?” Ben halfway teased.

“Not at all! But you’ve spent more time in my tent than yours in the last 36 hours. People will start to talk.”

“You’re probably right.” Ben said around another bite of sandwich. “But I’m taking my sandwiches with me.”

John laughed and pecked him on the lips. Twenty-four hours ago the idea of kissing this man terrified him. Now it seemed like the most natural thing to do.

“Get a good night’s sleep?” BJ asked when he walked into the Swamp.

He nodded and changed into a bathrobe. “Just sleep.” At BJ’s raised eyebrow he added more quietly “And kissing, if you must know.”

“So...the father has figured out what he wants to be, I take it?”

“Yes. Not a father.”

“You going back to his tent after your shower?”

Hawkeye nodded, picking up his shaving kit.

“Suggestion?” Hawk braced himself for the lecture. “Take your own damn Scotch this time.”

Hawkeye’s laughter rang across the compound when his towel hit BJ square in the face.


	10. Darling

After shower and a shave Hawk spent a few minutes with his best friend, who accepted Hawkeye’s fledgling relationship well. “I guess I see a lot more of what folks call ‘deviant behavior’ in San Francisco. It’s really nobody’s business who’s sleeping in whose bed, and I don’t know why folks get so wound around the axle about it.”

Father Mulcahy sat outside his tent writing his sister to tell her leaving the church must be a trait among Mulcahys and waiting for Hawkeye. He was carefully crafting his words lest his letter be pulled by Army censors. He could see movements in the Swamp and was secretly glad and frustrated combined that Hawkeye was taking his time. The ground still held too much water from the rains to find a private spot near the minefields, but Mulcahy decided the VIP tent might make a good location for them to meet later. While he had plenty of privacy in his tent, he felt they had spent too much time there of late. And the VIP tent had a nicer cot.

“Good afternoon, Father.” Hawkeye stood before him in his signature blue Hawaiian shirt. Mulcahy always thought the shirt brought out the blue in Hawkeye’s eyes. He could smell the Old Spice drying on his skin. “Writing a letter to your sister, the former sister?”

“Yes. No time like the present.” He closed the notepad and tucked the pencil into the wire spiral. “I’m nearly done though, and I need to tidy the VIP tent. Seems someone decided my bed was his last night.” He grin jovially, but Hawkeye picked up the hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Yes, well, I appreciate you not kicking me out on my keister. Shall I walk with you? I was headed to sun myself near the minefield.”

They slipped into the VIP tent together undetected. “Beej told me to bring my own Scotch this time.” Ben laughed as he ducked down to meet the slightly shorter man in a kiss. John responded with a groan and ran his hands across Ben’s broader chest. Ben pulled John in, holding him firm with both arms around his waist and hands pressing into the small of his back.

“Afraid I’ll run away, Ben?” John teased.

“Just trying to hold on while we have the chance.” He trailed small nibbles down Johns neck until he hit the high collar of John’s black shirt. Stepping back slightly, he pulled the shirt from the waist of John’s pants and made motions to pull it off. “May I?” John nodded, removing his glasses. After the shirt was shed, John removed the undershirt of his own accord and began unbuttoning Ben’s Hawaiian. Ben continued kissing down John’s neck as John pushed the shirt over Ben’s shoulders and down his arms. 

John remembered how strong and warm Ben’s chest felt against his back, but he had not allowed himself to take a close look at it. They had been in the showers together plenty of times, of course. One tended to avoid staring at one’s showermate, though. It was only common courtesy. This time, though, John took the opportunity to break apart from Ben and appreciate the dark but fine hairs curling across his chest. His torso was long and lean and tanner than John expected. As he traced delicate patterns with his fingertips across Ben’s chest, toying with dark hairs, the doctor leaned in for another kiss. “John...” he moaned when this time the lighter haired man moved his lips down Ben’s neck and shyly nipped the sensitive skin at the base of his throat. Ben allowed John to explore his torso with hands and mouth, alternating between nibbles, kisses, feather light touches, and scratches with blunt fingernails. When he reached belt buckles, though, Ben stopped them reluctantly. “Boots first...” He toed off his own predictably laced boots before guiding John to sit on the cot to help him untie his.

“Do you remember, John, about a year ago when we had that 4 day deluge of casualties and the fire in Pre-Op in the middle of it?” Ben asked, pulling off a boot. “Beej, you and I were in the kitchen making sandwiches.”

“We joked about me being a B-girl in San Diego.” John smiled. The second boot thumped to the floor.

“I think I might have fallen for you that day.” Ben’s hands wandered up John’s legs to his waistband.

“Oh....” He hissed at Ben’s hands working buckles and buttons and zippers. “I think I fell for you almost immediately; I just couldn’t admit it.”

“Better late than never, John.” Ben quipped, tapping the other man’s thigh in a motion to raise up so he could slip John’s pants down.

Pants removed and sitting on the edge of the cot completely naked in front of the surgeon before him, John felt shaky, exposed, and suddenly unsure of what was destined to transpire. The brief moment of jovial teasing passed into a moment of nerves and insecurities. “Ben...It’s been a long time. I...” He fought the urge to cover himself.

Ben still knelt before him, his hands resting on John’s bare hips. Lips brushed against lips. “Would it help if I evened the playing field?” Ben moved and sat on the cot beside him.

“Maybe.”

Pants shed, the two men sat side by side, arms and thighs touching and John tried desperately to look and not look simultaneously at his new lover. “I...I think I would like to...” John twisted to face Ben, unsure how to verbalize what he needed. “Oh, dear!”

Ben stroked John’s cheek, thumbing patterns across the clean shaven skin. “John,” he whispered, “Two weeks ago I told you I’d let you lead us where ever you were comfortable. If you’re not quite ready for this, we can wait.”

Leaning into Ben’s hand, he whispered “No, John. I’m ready. I’m afraid I’m suddenly not sure know how to start.” He blushed furiously, a new shame creeping in.

“Ah...well, let’s start with this...” He took Ben’s small hand in his larger one and guided it to his stomach. He moved both hands down into the dark patch of hair at his waist. With John tucked firmly in a gentle embrace, he moved them from a sitting position to lying on the cot, Ben on his back and John on his side leaning over him. John’s erect member pressed into his hip, causing him to jerk subconsciously. “Now, if you would like to move your hand lower, I would love it. If not, we can switch because I know you have something begging for attention.” He whispered.

“No, I think I would like to...” He took a moment to tease the dark curls his hand was resting in before finding Ben’s erection and wrapping a hand around it.

“Oh God, yes.” Ben hissed. “Just do whatever do to yourself, John. I’ll guide you if needed.” But Ben didn’t have to guide the other man, who tentatively and then with more confidence, ran his thumb over the slit. John rested his head in the crook of Ben’s shoulder and listened to the moans of pleasure vibrating from his throat. He experimented with the length and depths of strokes along the doctor’s shaft, and found Ben groaned more at long, fast strokes. The two men writhed together on the bed, Ben pressing the flat of his hand into the small of John’s back to encourage the grinding against his hip. The other hand gripped the blanket under them.

Too soon, Ben gasped and bucked and arched his back and swallowed what promised to be a tent rattling shout as John’s hand drove him to release, shooting over his stomach and John’s hand.

“John...” He rasped, kissing the top of the man’s sandy blond head. “John...”

The chaplain looked up into Ben’s sweaty, panting face, smiling at the reaction he was able to pull from the surgeon. His own release loomed close, but at that moment he cared about nothing but meeting Ben’s lips for a wet kiss.

“How close are you?” Ben finally questioned becoming aware John was still periodically thrusting against his hip.

“Quite...” He whispered.

“Let’s see what we can do about that.” They eased themselves over on the small space so they were lying mostly facing each other. Ben reached between them and gripped John’s member. “Kiss me, John.”

He complied moaning into Ben’s mouth around tongues and teeth and pulled Ben’s dark hair. Ben pumped his erection, squeezing at the base on each downstroke. John tried to remember exactly what Ben’s hands did so he could replicate the motions later, but soon the sensations became too strong to concentrate on anything but the heat rising through him. John’s toes flexed against Ben’s calves and his back arched and he pressed his face into Ben’s neck when Ben pulled the orgasm from his burning body. “Oh, oh...” he cried against warm tender flesh.

“I think,” John said later, sleepily and breathing almost normally, “I could stay right here forever.” He blushed when the words escape him, glad Ben could not see his face. He found he enjoyed lying on his side, resting his head on Ben’s shoulder with Ben’s arm curled around his back. His arm rested on Ben’s chest. The position make him feel protected and warm. 

Ben loved how neatly John fit in the crook of his arm, how their legs intertwined, how he felt desired. “I think I could too. Unfortunately I’ve got to go on duty. I really hate to, though, John.” He kissed the top of the man’s head again.

“Just five more minutes.” John mumbled.

 _Just 50 more years_ , Ben thought. “Of course, darling.”

John smiled at the term of affection before drifting off to sleep. 

In the end, Ben had to ease himself out of the embrace to dress and relieve Charles in Post-Op. There was a spare blanket in the Army issue dresser, which Ben draped over the nude priest. Kissing him on the cheek, he slipped out the door into the late afternoon sun and headed to Post-Op whistling _My Blue Heaven_.


	11. Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poker table scene loosely adapted from s5e5 “Lt. Radar O’Reilly." Most of the dialogue from that scene is not mine.

Four months. John and Ben had four months together, sneaking off to the minefield, John’s tent, the VIP tent, and on one occasion, an abandoned hut on the outskirts of Uijeongbu. Perhaps because they didn’t share the same tent by nature of their assignments, or perhaps because their relationship was more a gentle, steady ember than a bright fast burning flame, the two men still surrounded themselves with other people during the day and Hawkeye made effort to keep up his friendship with BJ. In fact all three men were often seen eating together in the mess tent or conspiring against the world in the Officers Club. But once Ben and John were alone, they wasted no time expressing how they felt about each other. Ben was even learning how to accept and revel in touch he once merely tolerated.

If you asked either man which moment stood out the most to them during their time together in Korea, though, they would both say the same thing. A night near the end of the war. In fact the night that would turn out to be their last alone together. It started with a poker game in the Swamp with most of the usual group - BJ, Colonel Potter, Klinger, Father Mulcahy, and Hawkey.

BJ was up nearly a hundred bucks even with a lousy poker face. Klinger was slowly losing everything he had until payday and tossed in a pair of hoop earrings to open. 

"What am I going to do with gold hoop earrings, Klinger?" BJ protested.

"Send 'em to your wife!"

"If I send Peg those, she'll ask me what harlot I took them from!"

"Hey, those get a lot of play at the Pink Pagoda in Seoul!"

"Exactly my point." 

Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy sat in the corner with their legs pressing against each other. Occasionally Hawkeye leaned down to caress the inside of Mulcahy’s knee when the rest of the players were distracted by their cards. He hoped someone would call it quits soon, as his pants kept getting tighter and tighter.

Hawkeye folded on his current hand after staring down BJ who sat with too smug a look on his face to be bluffing. Father Mulcahy asked for two cards. As he sorted them into his hand, Hawkeye leaned over to see. The priest immediately hid them, amused at Hawkeye’s antics. “Father, I thought you were supposed to trust your fellow man.” He acted wounded.

“Not when there’s eight dollars in the collection plate.” he quipped

Hawkeye responded by running his hand up the side of the father’s leg and teased too close to the front of Mulcahy’s own tightening pants. The doctor was rewarded with a warning look and a barely imperceptible mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

The surgeon then looked over to BJ’s cards, who immediately pulled away. “C’mon, Hawk, you’ll give it away.”

Klinger asked for two cards, to which Hawkeye joked “A face card and a deuce.” At Klinger’s scowl he quipped “Your nose is the mirror to your soul.”

Father Mulcahy decided he could play in the tease. “I’d like to use that sometime.”

Hawkeye looked at him and winked with a twinkle in his own eyes. “I’d be flattered.”

Colonel Potter called. BJ won another round with a full house.

“That’s it. I gotta go. I’ve got four letters to type, fill out the morning report, the monthly report, and massage my gums. And it’s almost midnight.” declared Klinger.

Even though the Beej took him for twenty bucks, Hawkeye was relieved the game might be breaking up. Father Mulcahy thought the same thing and decided to help it along. “Well, I should go.” He climbed out of the corner and over Hawkeye making a point to brush against him. “I promised I’d make a stop in Post-Op and check on a kid with dysentery. Besides, I’m out sixteen dollars.” He sighed dramatically “Unlucky at cards, unlucky at love. Goodnight,all.” He donned his panama hat as he walked out the door.

BJ was no fool. He saw the look his tent mate and his chaplain exchanged when Father Mulcahy said goodnight. He could sit here and insist on playing a few more hands with the colonel and Hawk just for spite or he could play the good guy and cash out himself. “Well, time for beddy-bye.” BJ announced. With one of the Swamp rats announcing bedtime, Colonel Potter and Klinger cashed out and made their leave too.

Hawkeye poured himself a cup of what passed for coffee in Korea and drank as slowly as he could bear. “Think I’ll check on the kid with the head wound then hit the latrine before bed.” Hawkeye announced.

“It’s just you and me here, Hawk.” BJ mumbled into his pillow. “No need to make a show of it.”

“Don’t care. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

The new kid on guard duty slept though Hawkeye’s short trip across the compound straight to Father Mulcahy’s tent. He walked in without knocking.

“Unlucky in love, John?” he greeted the priest. “You wound me.”

“Unlucky because we didn’t find each other sooner, my love.” John kissed Ben. “By the by, what’s the wise idea teasing me all night long? And me sitting next to the Colonel even!” 

The doctor just smirked.

The two men soon found themselves lying naked and properly aroused on two cot mattresses on the floor of John’s tent. Ben had swiped an extra mattress from supply a couple months ago, which they stored under John’s cot. They found spreading it and John’s on the floor was much more agreeable to spending half their time rolling off the single cot at inopportune times. Ben leaned over the sandy haired man trailing a hand down his side and over his firm rear end. He nudged John’s legs up and apart. “Ben...” John breathed, passing him a small jar of petroleum jelly. “Please...”

“Why, John, are you begging?” the dark haired man teased.

“Yes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

A groan passed John’s lips as Ben ran blunt fingernails down his thighs and over his sack. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

“Oh, John...” Ben dipped a finger in the petroleum jelly and then pressed it against John’s hole, letting the finger slide in. He dipped his head to lick the length of John’s aching erection before sucking it in.

The father writhed under him. “God, Ben! Please, now.”

Ben smiled wickedly and inserted another lubed finger He reached up to roll a small nipple between the fingers of his free hand.

“I can’t wait....please.” Sweat beaded on John’s forehead. He gripped Ben’s hair so hard Ben thought he might go bald. Ben’s fingers continued pumping in the deep warmth of John’s rear end and sucking his erection into his throat. He loved watching and hearing his mild mannered lover turn into a pleading pile of mush on his fingertips. He loved hearing this decent, proper man swear. Finally taking mercy on them both, he released John’s prick from his mouth and removed his fingers. John groaned in frustration, but the dark haired doctor was already lubbing up his own throbbing erection with the jelly. 

The father made to roll to his stomach, but Ben stopped him. “I want to see your face tonight.”

“We’ve never done it that way.”

Ben leaned in to bite a tender earlobe. “I know and the thought of it is making me crazy.” He brushed his fingers across John’s hole. He helped John prop his rear on a pillow, leaned in with his hips and pushed. This position made John tighter and the burn caused him to wince. “Relax. Breath out.” Ben commanded. As John exhaled, Ben pushed in again. “There. Much better. You okay?”

John nodded afraid to speak. They lay together allowing John to get used to the intrusion. Ben kissed his face, his neck, his ears. “God, John. You are spectacular.” At the small jerk of John’s hips, Ben began thrusting, taking his time and watching John’s face screwed up in pain, pleasure. His mouth made a little “O.” His eyes never left Ben’s.

“Faster, Ben. Please, faster.” He gasped finally able to form words. He grabbed his own member, running his thumb over the slit, causing him to jerk violently, and gripped bruises into Ben’s hip. In moments, John was able to match Ben’s rhythm and they came one after the other, in great spasms and muffled shouts.

Later, they lay curled together in John’s favorite position whispering to each other in the dim light of the reading lamp. Ben brushed the hair off John’s forehead. “John?”

“Mmmm?”

“After the war, would you...could you see your way fit to come with me to Crabapple Cove? It’s just Dad and me in that big old house. You could have your own room or if you wanted, we could both move into the larger room at the end of the hall. It has a great view of the bay. The sunrise will knock your socks off. I’d put in a good word for you at the school board. Maybe you could even start a boxing team. Whatd’ya say?”

“You mean until you find a wife?” He remembered Christopher’s similar proposal.

“Why would I find a wife, John? It’s you I love.”

John raised himself up to meet Ben’s blue eyes. He searched the other man’s face for signs of humor or teasing, but only found sincerity. “Are you sure, Ben?”

Ben reached behind John’s head and pulled him down. He kissed the man hard and firm. “Sure that I love you or that I want you to come to Crabapple Cove or that I don’t want to find a wife?’

“All of it, I suppose.”

“Surer than I’ve been about anything else in my life.”


	12. Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for s11e16 Goodbye, Farewell, Amen. I’ve taken a few liberties with canon including ignoring Klinger and Soon-Lee’s wedding.

“Tell me about the beach.”

“The beach was wonderful. Everyone had such a great time. Klinger and Igor were grilling hot dogs. There was baseball at first. Then we set up camo netting to play volleyball. I didn’t even mind when the tide took my sand castle. I believe it was the happiest many of us have been the whole war."

“Did you give him an answer about Crabapple Cove?” Sidney asked.

“Ben, er, Hawkeye and I found a few minutes to sit and talk once the volleyball game ended in chaos. I told him then I would love to move to Crabapple Cove with him. You should have seen his face, Sidney. He was overjoyed.” Father Mulcahy shook his head sadly. “Then came that damned bus!”

“Tell me about the bus.”

“I’m not here for you to psychoanalyze me, you know, Sidney!” He slammed a hand down on Sidney's desk. “I’m here to get advice on how to help Hawkeye after he returns to active duty. And you’ve already told me to give him space to heal on his own!”

“What makes you think he’ll return to duty, Father?” Sidney’s voice remained steady and calm in the face of Father Mulcahy’s outburst.

The chaplain sighed, covering his face. “They always do, don’t they? The boys who are treated for shell shock. You’ve always said they need to get back in the action as soon as possible.” Father Mulcahy wasn't sure what was worse, the idea Hawkeye would be awarded a medical discharge or that he wouldn't.

“Let’s go see if he’s up to company. We’ll let BJ go in first.” suggested Sidney.

But BJ came out only moments later ashen, calling Sidney back right away. Hawkeye became manic after just a short conversation. Perhaps BJ shouldn’t have brought up Erin, but he had been trying to find a way to tell Hawkeye goodbye. Father Mulcahy couldn’t fault him for that.

“I”m sorry, Father.” BJ said on their quiet ride home.

“Not at all, my son. We knew there was a chance he wouldn’t see either one of us. At least you got to speak to him one last time before you ship out. There will be another opportunity for me.” _I hope_ , he thought.

*****

The mortar shell went off just as the last POW cleared the holding pen and were ushered to the safety of the mess tent. Father Mulcahy remembered hearing the blast, and then his world went black. When he came to, the blue eyes looking down at him with concern weren’t Hawkeye’s. They were BJ’s. He was checking the chaplain out all over, looking for broken bones and internal bleeding. “Just a small concussion and some bruising, Father.”

“Why are you mumbling?”

After several tests, BJ came back with the diagnosis. Tinnitus. Damage to the inner ear from the mortar blast. Likely irreversible. One one hand, it meant a ticket home. On the other, how would the orphans at Meg Cratty’s orphanage survive without the money, food, and medicine Father Mulcahy provided them? How could he leave Hawkeye? At much urging, BJ agreed not to report the father’s hearing loss. 

The first few days, BJ stayed by his side, helping him read lips when he could. Translating when he couldn’t. Then BJ was gone and Hawkeye had returned all within hours of each other. Then the wounded started pouring in by choppers, bus and jeep; and the unit bugged out; and BJ came back; and they returned to Uijeongbu; and more wounded and more wounded and more and more and more.

Even if the chaplain knew what to say to Hawkeye, he barely had time to do so. Mostly he hovered in the background and prayed.

“Your tent around 10?” Hawkeye whispered in Father Mulcahy’s ear during a break in surgery.

He only heard ‘tent’, but the look on Hawkeye’s face said everything else. Hawkeye, in a moment of panic, had driven a tank through camp earlier in the day. The incident led to a call to Sidney, who would be in camp in the morning. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hawkeye. Not yet.” Crabapple Cove seemed further away than ever for both of them.

*****

The war was over. The 4077th was being dismantled. Hawkeye was mending, but not far enough so that Father Mulcahy could accept his proposal. He made the agonizing decision to stay in Korea to help his orphans. That’s what he heard himself saying during the 4077th’s last supper together. Hawkeye shot him an injured look from across the mess tent.

He strained to hear what Hawkeye said. “Big hosptal. Not all it’s cracked up to be. Time to talk with them. Crabapple Cove.” 

_A month ago we were planning a lifetime together. Now we begin a lifetime alone,_ Father Mulcahy thought, sadly taking a sip of his drink.

The next morning Father Mulcahy stared into the small mirror he tacked to the frame of his tent and fingered the white heavily starched strip of fabric in his hands. While he’d kept the collars the last few months, the last thing he expected was have to put one on again. The very idea of doing so felt like a betrayal to himself and to Hawkeye. The sun shone in through the bare walls and roof.

In the hubbub of final packing and disassembling of the camp, BJ spotted Father Mulcahy standing nearly motionless in the skeleton of his tent. He knocked on the frame and spoke loudly. “Everything okay, Father?”

“No, my son. I can’t seem to put my collar on.” Father Mulcahy turned so he could read BJ’s lips as they spoke.

“Need some help?”

The father shook his head. “I’m not physically unable to put it on. I’m spiritually unable.” He blinked back tears. “I thought I’d be relieved to see the war over, overjoyed even. I knew I, we, would have a struggle ahead of us going home and me resigning my priesthood. I was prepared for that. I was not prepared for...for this! I know it’s my choice to stay with the orphanage, but I still feel trapped. Trapped by my deafness, trapped by my inability to help my...to help Hawkeye, and now trapped by this!” He flung the collar to the floor in a fit of rage.

“I’m sorry, Father. I truly am. I cannot imagine what hell you’re going through.” BJ stooped to pick up the collar before giving the priest a hug. “Sidney and I will both stay in touch with you about how things are going back home. I know you’re torn between going stateside and staying here. And I know you’re torn about...other things as well. If it’s meant to be, your...opportunity stateside will still be there for you when you return.” There were so many people coming and going, it was difficult to talk openly, especially as loudly as Father Mulcahy needed BJ to speak to be heard.

“I suppose I know that, my son. Knowing doesn’t seem to make the doing any easier.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does, Father. Hey, I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve got something for you.” He handed over a file he’d been carrying. “This is a copy of your medical records, Father. The accurate ones recording your hearing loss so you can get the proper pension you deserve from the Army.” He flipped a page. “This is a letter of recommendation from me to the Red Cross, so when the Army gives you your medical discharge you can work through the Red Cross and stay in Korea with your orphans. The next page is a copy of Colonel Potter’s recommendation that you be considered for both a purple heart and the silver star for your acts of bravery and heroism, signed by Colonel Potter, Margaret, and myself. And finally my home address in Mill Valley along with the names of several audiologists on the east coast.” He laid the clerical collar on top of the file. “All of these records were sent to I-Corp this morning with the last of our company reports.”

“I don’t know what to say, BJ. I certainly don’t deserve commendation.”

“Father, I earned the bronze star for cutting a rope and running like a coward. What you did to save those POWs is the single most admirable act of bravery I’ve seen in the two years I’ve been here.”

*****

Hawkeye shifted between anger, depression, joy, and mania since Sidney left. When BJ walked back to the disassembled Swamp, Hawkeye was teetering between anger and mania. “So you’re the one whose arms the father has tumbled into! Some friend you are. I can’t crack up without you stealing everything from me. First you leave and don’t say goodbye.”

“I came back.” BJ muttered.

“Then, then I find out you’re...” Hawkeye slammed his beloved Hawaiian shirt on the bed. “I saw you over there. Now I know why he’s avoiding me. I know what’s what!”

“Listen, Hawkeye, I’ll take a lot of guff for a lot of things, but I won’t take it for something that’s not true.” BJ thundered. “If you’ll shut it for five minutes I’ll tell you something.”

BJ didn’t yell often and rarely without reason, so when he did, Hawkeye took a shaky breath and sat on the end of his footlocker. BJ dragged his own foot locker closer and sat across from his friend. “Listen, Hawk, I’d been asked not to say this to you, but I think you oughtta know. The father talked to Sidney - confessed everything - and asked for advice on how he should approach your relationship when you returned to duty. Sidney was understanding. Didn’t bat an eye about the homosexuality thing and swore he wouldn’t report you two. But he did tell Father Mulcahy that he should give you time to recover alone without the entanglements involved in a relationship. Said he’d seen it before where a soldier with shell shock goes home and the wife smothers him, wants him to be the same as he was before, ya know. The guy feels too much pressure to be ‘normal’ for his family and turns in on himself. Sidney thought it’d be even harder for you with the secrecy and the stigma...and the fact he watched you break. He’s not avoiding you, Hawk. He’s giving you the space your doctor ordered. He’s trying to help you.”

“Beej...” Hawkeye ran his fingers through his hair.

“You know what I was doing over there? I was comforting the father because he feels he can’t help you and because all he wants to do is take that damned collar off for good and go stateside with you. But he knows, at least for now, it’s not best for either one of you. He’s hurting too. He’s got stuff he’s got to work through too.” BJ did not break confidence and tell Hawkeye about the father’s deafness. “So cut him some slack, okay? And me too, while you’re at it. No one is against you, Hawk. Except maybe the cook. But I get the impression he’s against us all.”

*****

The sound of good-byes hung in the air. Father Mulcahy was doing what he had been doing the last two weeks to get by, smiling and nodding and responding with almost but not quite the right thing. It helped people already thought he was eccentric. The officers stood near the evac ambulance that would drop him at the orphanage on their way to the 8063rd. He wished them all well, one by one. 

And then there was Hawkeye. Ben. He swallowed hard. 

“Father, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time. You’re shirt’s on backward.” It was a ridiculous thing to say, and Hawkeye would admit later it was the first thing that popped into his head that he could say in mixed company. Father Mulcahy laughed stiffly, hugged Hawkeye as chastly as he could manage and climbed onto the ambulance. 

Hawkeye stood with his hands in his pockets and watched the ambulance drive away. Then he turned and walked toward what was left of the Swamp one last time. Laying on his footlocker was a very familiar looking Panama hat.


	13. Amen

“Who’s next?” Hawkeye asked his nurse and receptionist Elizabeth, walking his last patient to the door of the waiting room.

“No more patients until after lunch, Dr. Pierce. But there is someone to see you.”

“A pharm rep? Usually Dad handles those guys.”

“I don’t think so, sir. He asked for you specifically - Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Kind, gentle, quirky sort of man. Didn’t give a name. Said he wanted to surprise you. He’s been waiting a while, but doesn’t seem to mind. He’s even been playing with the children.” Hawkeye’s heart jumped. Elizabeth’s description sounded very much how one would describe a certain priest he once knew.

“He's been playing with the children?” He questioned.

“He’s so gentle the mothers didn’t seem to mind.” Elizabeth responded. The nurse motioned to the waiting room where a man sat facing away from them. The sandy blond hair also looked very much like a certain priest he once knew. At what seemed to be a shocked look on Hawkeye’s face, she asked, “Should I ask him to come back later?”

“No, Liz. Go check with Dad to see if he needs anything with his last patient and then you can take your lunch. I’ll talk to our mystery man.” Hawkeye walked out to the waiting room. “Father Mulcahy?” He asked, almost afraid it wouldn’t be so.

No answer.

“John?”

The man didn’t respond. Hawkeye touched the man’s shoulder and spoke louder, mostly out of nerves. “Father Mulcahy?”

The man jumped and stood to face the doctor. “Oh, Hawkeye!” He smiled so broadly Hawkeye thought he would melt right there.

“Father?”

“Not anymore!” He pointed to his neck. He was wearing a cashmere sweater the same color blue as his eyes with a matching striped oxford underneath. “You’ll have to speak up too, I’m afraid. I’m mostly deaf.”

“Deaf? What? How did that happen? Come back in the exam room and I’ll take a look.”

“Hawkeye...Ben, it happened at the end of the war while you were in Seoul. I’ve seen several audiologists. There’s nothing that can be done.”

Hawkeye couldn’t stand it anymore. He swept John into a hug. “Come, meet Dad. Then we’ll go to lunch. How long are you here? Why are you here?”

John laughed. “Slow down, Ben. Slow down. Let’s start with meeting the other Dr. Pierce, shall we?”

Dr. Daniel Pierce was just finishing up with his patient when the two men walked down hall to his exam room. Introductions were made. Hawkeye stumbled over John’s title. “Just ‘John Mulcahy’ will do, Ben.” John said, smiling.

“John, it is a pleasure to meet you. Hawkeye often talks fondly of you.” Dr. Pierce said warmly. His hair was lighter, but his eyes were just as blue as his son’s.

“I thought I’d take John up to the house for lunch so we can catch up, Dad.” Hawkeye announced.

“That’s an excellent idea, son. On your way out ask Elizabeth if she would call down to The Birdwatcher and order me a lobster roll. They don’t usually deliver, but Bob owes me a favor. I’ll eat lunch here so you two can have the house to yourselves.” Dr. Pierce said in such a way John wondered the types of things Ben had been telling his dad about him.

Ben and John walked up a path to a large Victorian house with a sweeping front porch sitting on the top of a hill and facing the bay. Ben led John around to the kitchen door on the side of the house. He’d been babbling like a schoolgirl all the way up the hill so fast John couldn’t make out half of what he said. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything important.

As soon as Ben let the screen door slam closed behind him, John turned to him and pulled the doctor in for a deep kiss. John gripped Ben's dark hair and white Oxford shirt, slipping his tongue between surprised and suddenly bruised lips. Ben growled, taking a moment to respond before snaking hands up John's taut torso. When John pulled away, he leaned his forehead against Ben's.

"I've been waiting to do that for 18 months."

"If that's how you say hello," Ben moaned, "Maybe you should leave and come back again."

"That was farewell, my friend. This is hello." John kissed him again, with less urgency this time, but no less passion.

As much as Ben wanted to haul John up the stairs and to his bedroom on the spot, he knew there were things that needed to be said first. "Hungry, John? May I make you a sandwich?" He asked while they still clung together.

"Oh yes, that would be lovely."

"Do you remember the first day we kissed and I fell asleep in your bed?" Ben asked as he spread mayo on two slices of bread. John had asked him several times to speak up and he was trying to remember to do so. It seemed so unnatural after all the times they had to speak in hushed tones. "You had Igor bring me sandwiches and coffee?"

John smiled, remembering. When the two were finally settled at the kitchen table Ben got around to one of their big questions for each other. "Tell me about your hearing loss. Surely there's something we can do."

"BJ has put me in touch with several audiologists on the east coast. He even had Dr. Winchester pull a few strings at Boston Mercy. It's a cross I must bear, I'm afraid." John launched into the story of reaching the Chinese POWs.

"I wish I'd been there for you, John. I'm so sorry." Ben reached across the table to touch John’s hand.

"I know, my friend. But what's done is done. Tell me about your shell shock. I’ve stayed in touch with BJ and Sidney, but you and I have never talked about it ourselves. BJ says he told you I was asked to stay away. I hope you understand.”

Ben nodded. “I wanted to punch BJ’s lights out our last day in Korea. He was spending so much time with you after I returned to duty, the irrational side of my brain told me you and he were...well, it was stupid and it doesn’t matter now. My mind was playing all kinds of tricks on me those last 4 weeks.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have my good days and my bad days. The more time goes by, the more the good outnumber the bad. I still can’t get on a bus and sometimes when I see mothers holding their children close I feel panic rise up in my throat. The Fourth of July is difficult too. There’s a shrink in Portland Sidney put me in touch with. I drive down to see him when my panic level gets too high, usually a couple times a year. And I take the train to Chicago every three months to check in with Sidney. Sometimes after our meetings, he finds us a poker game to join. Feels like the rare good times we had in Korea - without the little voice in your head telling you to not get too comfortable because choppers might come in anytime.”

John told of his year after the war in Korea working with orphans and setting up a school for deaf children near Kimpo. "Because of shelling near villages many children have inner ear damage similar to mine." He explained. "I've been stateside for the last six months. The first thing I did when I returned was resign my priesthood. Since then, I’ve mostly been meeting doctors about my condition and raising money and support for a deaf school in the northeast. I have a backer now, and about seventy-five percent of the funding needed. I've just begun my search for a location."

"Where are you looking?"

"Well," John started with a glint in his blue eyes, "I've been thinking about a particular small New England town if a certain doctor I know will have me."

Ben studied him for a moment trying to decide if John meant what he thought he meant. "As a business partner?"

"In part. I was hoping he might find his way be my life partner too. He did ask me once to come with him to Crabapple Cove. Apparently there was room in his house for one more. Something about a large room at the end of the hall we could share.”

With that, Ben did drag John out of his chair and up the stairs to his bedroom. The small room was furnished simply with a full sized bed, a dresser, and a small night table, on which sat a Panama hat. 

Ben took a shaky step toward John, wrapping his arms around John's waist and burying his face into John’s neck. “It’s been so long.” He swallowed down a sob as though he’d been holding his breath for a year and a half and could finally breathe again.

“No soft nurse or lobster fisherman keeping you company these days, my friend?” John teased.

Ben raised up to look John in the eyes. “John, the day you broke your vow, I swore to God no one else but you. There’s been no one else. There never could be.”

“Oh..." He breathed as he moved them toward the bed. 

*****

The sun set behind the house sending orange and red light bouncing off the waters in the bay. Sated and sleepy, Ben and John sat on the front porch facing the water watching the lobster boats come in for the night and drinking beer. More used to the cool March weather, Ben only wore a fisherman’s sweater over his clothing, but John had to borrow a jacket. Dr. Daniel Pierce came whistling up the path and called to the men. “Hello, boys. A little early in the year for drinking on the porch, isn’t it?” 

Hawkeye glanced sideways at John who looked about as happy and peaceful as he’d ever seen him, and called back down. “Nope, Dad. It’s almost perfect.” John took Ben’s hand, almost shyly, not confident about displaying affection in Dr. Pierce’s presence, but Hawkeye lifted John’s hand to his lips. “Pull up a chair on John’s side so he can hear you and have a beer with us.”

The three men watched the evening activities on the bay, talked, and drank their beers. “Dad, John is going to stay with us a while. I thought he could take the larger room at the end of the hall.”

The older Pierce took a long sip of beer. “How long you think you’ll stay, John?”

The former priest was momentarily flustered. Hawkeye looked at the two people he loved most and spoke for John. “How does the year 2015 sound?” He asked them both. John could see Ben’s smile in the growing darkness.

Hawkeye spoke about all his lovers with an angst Dr. Pierce not once in eighteen months heard in Hawkeye’s voice when he spoke about the man now sitting on his front porch, huddled in his son’s windbreaker and the Panama hat that had sat on his son’s night table for the last year and a half. The man to his right had always been spoken about with a reverence and love Dr. Pierce found unique in his son’s frequent soliloquies. He took another long drink, said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for his son’s happiness to whatever god might be listening, stood, and said “Well then I’d better get your room ready, John, because that sounds good to me.”


	14. Epilogue

At first Ben stayed in his small room and John lived in the big room alone. They were so accustomed to living in close proximity but separately and having to be secretive, this arrangement made sense to them both. At night one would wander down the hall to the other’s bedroom and then sneak back before dawn. About six weeks in to this arrangement, the older Dr. Pierce yawned at the breakfast table and announced, “You boys know the floorboards in the hallway squeak terribly, don’t you?”

John blushed. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Pierce.”

“That’s another thing, John. If the three of us are going to share this big house, please call me Daniel. Hell, half my patients don’t call me Dr. Pierce.” He took a bite of the scrambled eggs Hawkeye placed in front of him. “Why don’t you boys just share John’s room? You could turn Hawkeye’s old room into an office for your work on the school.”

John spent his days while Ben and Daniel were seeing patients in his new office searching for teachers, a school location, and working through financial details with his backer, a businessman in Boston Dr. Winchester had connected him with. The three men spent their lunches on the porch or around the kitchen table John teaching the two Dr. Pierces sign language. 

In the middle of the summer, John and Ben toured a large Greek Revival home for sale in Camden, 15 miles away. “It has everything we need, Ben!” John exclaimed. “The bedrooms are large enough to sleep 4 children per room. And we can have three classrooms downstairs and still have space for a dedicated dining room.”

"There's even space out back for a boxing ring." Ben observed, earning him a blush and a quick kiss on the cheek for remembering John's dream of one.

A year of planning was paying off and the school was set to open with ten students and two teachers in just a few months.

“John,” Hawkeye announced one day at lunch, “we’ve been so busy with the school, I haven’t gone to see Sidney in six months.”

Both his father and his love looked at him cautiously. "I'm fine, really," he protested. "I thought it might be a good idea to go, though, before the school opens. In addition to all our last minute planning, I'll take on 12 new patients come September. I thought I'd get a visit in while I can."

"I suppose you have a good point there, son. John and I can hold down the fort alone for a few days while you're gone." Daniel said.

"Actually, I thought John might like to come with me. I could get Sidney to get together a poker game and we could make a regular reunion out of it. What do you say, John?" Ben spoke and signed his proposal. "We could even stay an extra day and you could show me around Chicago if you'd like."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Ben!" Hawkeye had gone to see Sidney twice in the last year, but John hadn't gone with him on either occasion.

*****

The two men walked off the platform and into the train station in Chicago. John had carried both bags off the train in case Ben needed to sign to him on the overly loud platform. He turned to hand Ben his overnight bag as a voice called out “John! John...er, Father Mulcahy!”

That was a name Ben hadn’t heard in a while. He spotted a tall athletic man in an expensive business suit walking toward them. John hadn’t heard the voice yet; the sound was still too far away for him. So Ben motioned to him. “Oh my,” he murmured in surprise. “It’s Christopher.”

Before Ben could react, the stranger was in front of them. “John! What’s it been? Fifteen years? So good to see you!”

“Hello, Christopher.” John spoke a little too loudly as he was prone to do these days. Ben could tell from the look on John’s face, he hadn’t heard the greeting well. There was too much background noise in the station.

“You’ll have to speak up.” Ben interjected. “John lost most of his hearing during a mortar attack in Korea trying to move several POW’s to safety.” He signed the words as well as spoke them so there would be no mistake to John what he was saying. Normally Ben simply informed people John was mostly deaf. He needed this man, though, to know his partner was one of the bravest men he knew.

“You were in the war?” Christopher seemed surprised. “I didn’t think the Army would take school teachers, especially if they were men of the cloth.”

Ben continued to sign the conversation for John so he could catch everything. “Oh, yes, they took everyone they could, I suppose.” John smiled stiffly.

“Where were you assigned? I was in I-Corps in Seoul. Made it near the front lines a few times for one reason or another. It was terrible! I don’t know how men survived up there.”

“Many didn’t.” Ben said dryly.

“I...we...were with a MASH unit near Uijeongbu.”

Christopher’s eyes widened. “The 4077th! On the front lines! John! I’ve heard all about your unit. Ninety percent success rates don’t happen to MASH units on the front. Yours did. It was all the talk of I-Corps. How did you make it?” He was inching closer to John. Whether in admiration or something else; Ben didn’t care. He inched closer to Christopher, a possessive move he should have regretted, but didn’t.

“We had a lot of guidance.” John looked heavenward over his round glasses. Ben grinned despite himself. He loved that quirk of his partner.

“And you were there too?” Christopher turned to Ben.

“Yes. Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce. John and I served together for the duration of the war. Right up to the very end. Well, except for my unfortunate stint in a hospital in Seoul...”

“Wounded?”

“The head doctors like to call it shell shock. In fact, that’s the reason we’re in Chicago. We come up every so often to check in with my shrink from Korea. He likes to make sure I’m still fit to be out among the public.” Ben grinned somewhat manically.

“And so you’re along for the spiritual support, John?” Christopher turned his attention back to the former father. 

“Oh, heavens, no. Strictly moral support and companionship. Ben is my... _friend_.” He looked in the doctor’s direction lovingly.

“I see you aren’t wearing your collar. I didn’t realize priests went about without them in public.”

“I left the priesthood a few years ago. There were many things I...discovered in Korea that caused me to question my faith.”

“Oh, but he still calls out to his God nearly every night.” Ben’s blue eyes flashed wickedly. “He even has _me_ calling out to his God, and this is the man who once called me a ‘crazy agnostic.’”

The double entendre slowly sunk in. “Yes, well, my wife and I are on our way to New York City for a business meeting. We haven’t had much time together the last few years with the war and all, so we’re extending the trip a few days to see the sights. She stopped off in the powder room to refresh her make-up before we board.” He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “You know how wives are.”

“No, can’t say we do, Christopher.” Ben smirked. He was on a roll now and refused to be polite or delicate. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Ben, you are incorrigible!” John laughed after Christopher walked away. Ben’s own laugh echoed across the station, causing Christopher to look back one last time.

“I’m sorry I gave him such a difficult time about it. He’s more pleasant than I imagined he’d be.” Ben signed without speaking aloud. “I was prepared to hate him should we ever met.”

“Oh yes, he always was quite likable.” John responded. “But you, my love, you are the finest kind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the opportunity to give John Mulcahy a little closure with Christopher or give Hawkeye aka Ben a chance to be naughty.


End file.
